A Certain Man
by HenriDeLeAlle
Summary: A dour private investigator, a saucy lawyer, and a missing man with a complicated past: an exciting time in San Francisco. (Will update ad libidum.)
1. Chapter 1

It was a cool summer evening in San Francisco; the sun was only just beginning to fall beneath the horizon. I was finishing up a case report for the police department - a domestic violence incident which turned murderous and required the keener eyes of a private investigator. I signed-off on it and laid it in my **out** box, then leaned back and lit-up a cigarette and took a puff. I was tired. There had been fewer cases as of late but they had been grimmer, grislier, exhausting, and I didn't tire easily.

My desk phone began to ring - the light indicated that it was my secretary, Wendy. I picked up: "Shouldn't you be home by now?" The clock next to the phone showed half-past seven (we closed at five).

"You might handle the leg work, Mr. Marsh, but I still have to fax your reports and close up shop each evening."

I pulled the case report from the **out **box. "I just finished. Wanna come and get it?"

The phone clicked and a second later Wendy came into my office with a pouty look. "Would it kill you to bring it to me yourself?" She took the report out of my hands and skimmed it. "As bad as any I've seen."

I shrugged. "I've seen worse. You should have come to Vietnam, though I'm not sure if you would have liked it much."

"Probably not." She left to go start up the fax machine, and I took the opportunity to put my jacket on and make my way out. I had my hand on the knob of the main door when she said: "Heidi wants to talk with you."

I kept my hand on the knob. "About what?"

"She didn't say." Wendy had just finished the fax and turned the machine off. "If you want we can share a cab to my place and you can ask her."

I didn't really want to - it was a Friday evening and all I wanted to do was go home - but I said "Okay" and we went off.

* * *

Wendy's apartment was on the top floor of a decent little building in the Mission District. We took the elevator and soon I was sitting in a chair with a drink in my hand - across from me was Wendy and her roommate, Heidi. She was a pretty young lady with light brown hair and full red cheeks. "I believe you know my fiancé, Eric Cartman."

I groaned in my mind at the mention of that man's name. "We go back. What about him?"

Heidi looked down at her hands. "He's been missing for a few days. He does this sometimes, just disappears for a day or two, but he always comes back."

"What happened on the day he went missing?"

"He called me from the office and said he'd be running late to run some errands. When he runs errands, he's usually home by ten. Sometimes these errands involved drinking, and when he got drunk, he would pass by the fag bars–"

"Heidi!"

"Sorry, Wendy. He would, um- go by _the bars_ and yell insults at the men."

"Do you suspect someone in the community has something to do with his extended absence?"

"I don't want to accuse," said Heidi, "but-" She trailed off and didn't try to look either of us in the eye.

I took a final sip from my drink and put the glass on the table. I sized up Heidi: she seemed an innocent and unsuspecting woman, who was no more cautious of the gay community than anyone else.

I stood up. "I'll take the weekend to find some leads. Which bar did he most often get into tussles with people?"

"Moby Dick."

I excused myself and made for the door, saying over my shoulder: "Come by the office on Tuesday at two."

* * *

By half-past nine I was in my own apartment, a studio of lesser quality than Wendy's two-bedroom, but it suited me just fine. From my window I could look down on the Castro, and Moby Dick was only a block away. I considered swinging by for personal reasons, but a second drink and a Miles Davis record suited me better that evening.

"Perfect for the occasion." I let the turntable start up _So What_ as I sat by the window, now truly thoughtful as I looked down at the streets. A group of very young men – maybe mid-twenties – passed by, undoubtedly on their way to Moby Dick. One of them had brilliant orange hair that shone in the streetlamps. I had been a part of that scene when I first moved here a few years ago, but now the only thing that tired me out was my work and my drinks.

_So What _ended and I took it off the turntable and put it back in its case. I showered and got ready for bed; it had been a grueling week, and I deserve an early bed. Too bad I wasn't going to get the weekend off.


	2. Chapter 2

I headed over to Moby Dick the next evening around five. The bartender, Tweek, was compulsively wiping down the counter when I walked in. "Are the germs dead yet?" I asked.

"It can never be t-too clean."

I took a seat at the bar across from Tweek and asked for an Old Fashioned, which was prepared once he finished crushing all resistance with his cloth. Between sips I asked: "How's Craig these days?"

"He's good. Still living in Denver, s-saving money for us. He's visiting in a few weeks, actually."

I nodded, then took another sip. "I'm in the good books with some firms in the bay; wouldn't be too hard to get him in the door somewhere. It would be less than he's getting now, but he would be here with you."

"I'll bring it up to him." Tweek had a mess of spikey blonde hair which he pushed all around when he was anxious, which was often. He used both hands to slick it back, then looked me in the eye and said: "You came to ask about Cartman?" I nodded, and Tweek continued. "It's odd, really: every Friday evening for a month Cartman would come by and yell and scream at us in a drunken rage; security u-usually had to take him away, but never hurt him. Then he just stopped s-showing up, until the other night: he was drunk, but seemed d-distressed about something."

"That's useful information," I mused. "Any idea of what he was distressed about?"

Tweek shrugged in ignorance. The phone rang, and as it was Craig who was on the phone, I put $15 on the counter and left.

* * *

I meandered through the Castro for a while (boy-watching more than anything) before I caught a cab to Ghirardelli square to watch the ships and sunset. I was debating if I should buy an overpriced sundae when I noticed a tuft of thick, bright-orange hair walking in front of me. I stood and saw a young, pale skinned redhead walk up the stairs to the Ghirardelli store, and I intuitively followed him.

He was a good-looking guy, maybe half-a-foot shorter and five years younger than I. He had a good figure: a little round in the right places, but overall athletic and looking to be in good health. This all was shown by a light-gray three-piece suit, finished off by a brown belt and shoes, and a black skinny-tie. It was cute to watch him pick up different products and examine them with a keen eye, all for what was just chocolate. By chance, I was ahead of him in line for the sundae, so I went ahead and bought his.

"That's awfully kind of you, Stan."

"I'm in that kind of mood, Butters. Mind if I come around to yours and Kenny's place when you close up?"

Butters was alright with that and I took my sundae over to a table with two chairs. Five minutes later, the redhead sat in the other chair without asking. "I've seen you around the Castro. You live in the _Bernstein_, right? I'm just up the street in the _Copland_."

"You're either an observant boy or a stalker."

He laughed quietly and smirked. "Very observant, but I'm no stalker - nor a boy," he added dryly.

I gave his face a quick look: it was as round and boyish as any I'd seen. "You look young enough to be a boy: mid-twenties?"

"Twenty-seven. You look old enough to be a man: late-thirties?"

"Good guess, but only thirty-three." I'd always had a sharp, rugged face which made me look older.

"Borne from good observations. I haven't seen you around the bars though, but I guess you're too old for that scene."

"Hardly too old, just not my scene anymore. Were you hoping that I'd make an appearance?"

He stabbed his sundae with his spoon and shot a sultry look at me, but then composed himself and said: "Maybe, maybe not. But here we are, so it's all worked out."

I nodded slowly. "You seem like the type of guy who knows what he wants."

"I'm not the type to bullshit around."

"By nature or by trade?

He seemed caught off-guard by that. "What does trade have to do with anything?"

"An observant boy who cuts the bullshit - never mind one who belongs to the suit-and-tie crowd. You're a lawyer, aren't you?"

He smiled. "I guess I'm not the only one who's observant. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Marsh."

"So it would seem."

* * *

We finished our sundaes in silence until Butters walked over after closing up shop. He seemed to know the man - I found out his name was Kyle - and invited him to join us. We shared a cab to Butters's apartment where he, Kenny, and Kyle did most of the talking. The couple were moving to an up-and-coming gay neighborhood in Seattle called Capitol Hill because Kenny had won a job at a new company called Microsoft. Kenny believed the company was going places, but I had my doubts.

Another round was called for and Butters went to the kitchen to make them. I followed him and asked: "How's Cartman these days? You keep in contact with him more than me."

"He's good, I think - haven't heard from him since last Friday."

"Any ideas of where he might have gone?"

"Jeez, I don't know, Stan. Cartman's a good friend, but pretty private. Maybe you should ask Heidi." I said I'd consider it, then asked if Cartman ever took off for a day or so. "I think Heidi can be a bit much for him sometimes, so he usually takes off to another part of the city for the day."

"Where does he usually go?"

He thought for a moment. "Oakland, specifically Emeryville."

I thanked him for the information and we went back to the others. Kyle had loosened up considerably and his cheeks had taken on a red tint. Kenny was prying Kyle for information about a man who worked with him at a law firm.

Kenny offered some sound encouragement. "I think you should go for it, man: he sounds like a real catch."

"I like him, but he's just not my type."

"Here you go talking about your type again-"

"Don't tease me!" Kyle slapped Kenny's arm. "I don't want to go home with someone I'm not attracted to. And he's a coworker: I don't want to muddy the waters."

I must have dozed off because it was ten when I finally checked my watch. I said good night to Kenny and Butters and asked Kyle if he wanted to walk home together, and he said sure.


	3. Chapter 3 (NSFW)

Kyle and I walked home from Kenny and Butter's apartment without a word between us. We were getting close to the Bernstein when Kyle broke the silence and asked if I had any family: I lied and told him "No" when in fact my mother lived in San Diego, though I hadn't seen her in some time.

Kyle was far more open. "My family lives in Newark, but I left after finishing college and haven't been back in at least two years." I asked if he had ever come out to them. "Yes. They visited once and asked if I was ever going to get married, and I told them I would settle-down when I found the right person. My mother asked if that person would be a man instead of a woman; I told her that would be the case. They left the next day."

We arrived at the entrance to the Bernstein. I opened the door to go in, but I looked back at Kyle: he seemed to want to ask to come in but was unsure. I stood aside and held the door open for him, saying that he could come up and have a drink: he seemed relieved by the offer and accepted.

I offered a 7&7 (just something light given how much we'd drunk that evening) as soon as I opened the door, but Kyle insisted on an Old Fashioned. "You can hold your liquor better than most guys I've met. Everyone wants to impress daddy with a line-up of shots but they just throw it up later."

"Is there a personal anecdote there?" There was, but I didn't want to tell him so I just said "No" as I handed him his glass. He eyed me with a smug knowing look, then twirled his glass and took a sip. "This is good," he said. "Most guys can't even make a Vodka-Soda to save their lives."

"Acquired skill, among others."

"Oh? And what would the others be, Mr. Marsh?" He took another sip with a mischievous look on his face and batted his lashes a few times for good measure.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat: I liked the guy just alright, but I wanted to be the one to lead this dance. "The kind that were useful back when the bars were my scene."

Kyle made fishy lips. "Are they still sharp?"

"Like a knife."

At that, Kyle put his drink down and crawled over to sit in my lap and kiss me. I wasted no time in pulling him in by the hips and encouraging a more aggressive style of play - it had been far too long and I didn't want romance; I wanted to fuck.

I tried to flip him to get on top but he gave me a good push back onto the couch. "I'm sorry if you're used to your boys being submissive," he whispered in my ear, "but that's not me." I groaned in irritation but let him carry on. He quickly did away with our shirts, then our pants, and soon I was standing by my bed with Kyle on his knees working on me.

"Mmmm- damn, Kyle." He wasn't keen on taking me deep, but he knew what to do with his tongue, dancing around my head for what seemed like an eternity. I had to put my hand on the wall to keep myself steady - God knows where this kid learned to suck a dick like that. I looked down and saw his big green eyes looking up at mine, daring me to lose it all in his mouth right there.

He pulled off, gave me a few strokes and bit his lower lip with a sultry look. "You're not the only one with acquired skills." Before I could retort, he stood up and guided me to the bed, laying me down square in the middle and straddling me. "Condom?" I pointed at the nightdesk which he promptly opened and took a condom from, as well as a bottle of lube which I rarely used.

He put the condom on me, applied a generous amount of lube, then took all of me in one go. He uttered an "Mmffp" in surprise, but within a few seconds he was slowly working himself up and down on me, getting up to a steady pace.

I put my hands on his hips and closed my eyes, and allowed myself to enjoy this. I would never put up with a power bottom, but I wasn't in a rush to get Kyle off of me either - he was talented. He went on and on for a few minutes, before slowing to stop and asking if I wanted to switch. I said yes, and, as if reading my mind, he got down on all fours and raised his ass up for me.

I rushed to throw a bit more lube on myself before plowing right into him, eliciting an excited gasp. After just a minute on slamming him, I was close to finishing: I took a good handful of his orange hair and pulled his head back as I thrusted one last time. "Ugh- Kyle- fuck."

His own exclamations told me that he had finished as well. I pulled out of him and fell back onto the bed, while he rolled onto his side, his ass still facing me. I took a minute to throw out the condom and take a post-coital pee, then went back to guide Kyle to the shower where we washed each other down.

I pulled him close to me by his round ass and kissed him. "You're really something."

He giggled. "So are you."

We made it back to the bed, where Kyle laid his head on my chest and allowed our legs to intertwine. We'd only been there for a minute when Kyle asked: "Aside from having no family, what's your story?"

I ran my hand through his bushy orange hair. "Grew up on a farm in Colorado. Bumbled around the country until shipping off to Vietnam. Came back with the final troop withdrawal, settled here in the bay instead of going back home."

"So you do have a family," Kyle said, and Stan could hear it was done with a smirk.

"Technically. I'd rather not get into it."

"Okay." Kyle nuzzled his head into my chest. "Maybe another time."

Stan concurred with his own "Maybe," but he had already decided to see Kyle more often.

* * *

**A/N: As penance for not writing a more elaborate sex-scene in _Balls and Bugles_, I went out of my way to get some NSFW content into this story early on ;-)**


	4. Chapter 4

Kyle woke me up the next morning with an accidental elbow to the chin: he apologized and kissed me where he'd made contact. I ruffled his hair and suggested we get dim-sum by the pier, and Kyle nearly jumped out of the bed with joy. Half-an-hour later we were sitting in a dingy cafe where the staff went around the room with carts. I was amazed at Kyle's apetit, devouring whole servings of dumplings by himself.

"What firm do you work for?" I asked, as he was finishing another round of barbecue pork buns.

"Garrison and Mackey."

All I said was "Hmmm." I did some off-the-record work for Garrison, but I wanted to glean some info off of Kyle. "What kind of reputation do I have over there?"

"Garrison thinks you're OK - Mackey is indifferent, as far as I can tell. Honestly, I didn't connect 'Stan Marsh the PI' to 'that handsome man who lives nearby' until last night." One of the staff brought a single check which Kyle snatched up without offering to split. "Everything Garrison said about you fell into place once we started talking."

I stared across the room as I asked: "And what do you think?"

"Garrison was right. You're OK."

I looked back at Kyle who smiled genuinely at me. "Not to sound hubristic, but I think last night was more than 'OK.'" Kyle went a little red and quickly got up to go pay at the register.

We left the cafe and headed towards the piers overlooking the bay. It was overcast but warm, and I checked my watch to see if it wasn't too early to cool off with a drink - it was rounding noon. I sighed loud enough to catch Kyle's attention and concern. I waved it off by asking: "The Fourth is coming up soon. Have any plans?" Kyle said he did not. "I don't wanna rush anything, but I wouldn't mind spending some of it with you."

Kyle giggled. "I think we've already rushed quite a bit. And I'd be happy to spend the Fourth with you, Mr. Marsh." I laughed and told him to never call me Mr. Mars again, then gave him my office number.

* * *

I spent most of the rest of the day calling hotels in Emeryville inquiring about 'my cousin Eric.' I'd gone through half-a-dozen until I spoke with the manager of a place called _Green Field Motel_.

"Mr. Cartman has stayed with us many times before, but not for at least a month." I asked if there were any bars or cafes he frequented. "There's a skin-bar a few blocks down called _Raisins _which he mentioned in passing a few times."

I thanked the manager, then caught a cab over there at about six and arrived at a quarter-past seven. The joint was as seedy and dangerous-looking as any I'd ever seen - fortunately I had a .38 in my coat pocket. I got a table in the back which had a good view of the room and sat there for maybe an hour waiting for something to happen.

That something was a pretty young brunette who came over to my table, in clothes cut so short that she might as well have worn nothing. "Hey, hun, welcome to Raisins, my name's Lexus. How are you this evening?"

"I'm good, doll, thanks." I scooted over and let her sit next to me. "How does a girl like you end up in a place like this?"

She smiled. "A girl's gotta make a living anyway she can, hun."

I glanced around the width of the room where other similarly dressed women were working on their respective patrons. "I guess so." I took a ten out of my coat pocket and held it to the table with my palm. "I'm looking for a guy, my cousin, who I think is a regular here. He's fat with brown hair, obnoxious and-"

"Cartman," she interrupted me with a sigh. "That's some cousin you got."

"His girl is worried about him, and I'm just trying to make sure he's okay. Have you seen him recently?"

She looked me in the eye, quickly glanced down at the ten, then back at me. I took out a five and put it with the ten: that satisfied her. "I don't know his name, but there was a guy who Cartman would come to see here. They were here last weekend, actually."

"What did this guy look like?"

"Never got a good look at him, to be honest, hun." She gave a kind of crooked smile. "I'm just a hooker, not a detective."

I took out another five and asked if she was absolutely sure, and she said she was. I gave her the fifteen and thanked her for her service, then I made my way to a phone-booth and called Wendy.

Straightaway she asked if I had any new information about Cartman. "A little. He's been spending some time in Emeryville with a guy whose name I don't have yet." Wendy asked where Cartman had been spending his time; I said I didn't know. I hung up and then dialed a cab to come get me, and waited outside with the bouncer until it arrived.

I believed in my abilities as a shooter and a fighter, but that place just put me in a mood to not take any risks.


	5. Chapter 5

Most of Monday was spent staring out my office window, willing this case to evaporate. I had a lead that was of no help to me and, as much as I disliked Cartman, I didn't want to reveal to his fiance. I was considering my options: go back to _Raisins _and ask around some more; hit up Butters and see if he withheld any information; drop the case entirely and make a permanent enemy of my secretary's friend. The last seemed like the best course of action.

As if on cue, Wendy knocked on the door, then opened it and walked in. "You haven't left your office all day." She walked over and opened the window to let some fresh air in. "Are you giving up?"

"No. Just looking for the path." I took out a cigarette and lit up; Wendy came around and took one for herself. "I talked with Tweek, who said that Cartman seemed distressed about something, and if he was hanging around Emeryville then he couldn't have been up to any good." Wendy asked if I suspected him of working with gangs or mafia. "I don't; Cartman is an idiot and a racist, but smart enough to not get mixed up in any of that." I took a drag and looked into Wendy's eyes - big, blue, and piercing; just like Kyle's except for the color.

That gave me an idea. "Wendy, can you patch me through to _Garrison and Mackey_?" She said sure and half-a-minute later the phone was dialing.

A secretary picked up. "_Garrison and Mackey_, may I ask who's calling?" I told them, then asked if Kyle was there. "Just one moment, please." A minute went by until they got back. "Mr. Broflavski just left for the day, may I take a message?" I said no, then hung up.

Broflavski - something about that name seemed familiar. I put it out of mind as I grabbed my coat and headed out of the office. Over my shoulder I yelled to Wendy: "I have a new lead. Close up early if you want and I'll see you tomorrow."

I met Kyle outside the _Copland_ at half-past four. He was surprised but happy to see me and asked what the occasion was; I asked if we could go to his apartment and talk about it, and he said okay.

Kyle somehow managed to afford a two-bedroom for himself - a nice living-room and kitchen, a bedroom for sleeping and the other as an office. He offered a glass of port - too sweet for me but I wasn't going to reject his hospitality. We sat on the couch with our glasses and Kyle asked: "Are you here for business or pleasure?"

"Business first, pleasure later, maybe." Kyle seemed a little disappointed but asked me what the business was. "There's a skin-bar in Emeryville called _Raisins_. Know anything about it?"

"Nothing specifically, except that its a popular outpost for the Black Market. What I've heard from policemen is that it's where people go to set up deals but not complete them, which makes it hard to bust people; no product or money equals no crime." I asked if he had any idea of what kind of items were commonly peddled. "Hard to say. Given that the product doesn't have to be present, it could be anything: guns, jewels, and so on." He swirled his glass then took a sip. "Why the sudden interest?"

"A client wanted to meet there, can't say I ever want to go back."

Kyle laughed and nodded in understanding. "It doesn't seem like your scene. It certainly isn't mine." I asked if he would be willing to reach out to his police friends for more information. "Sure. I'm guessing this is an anonymous request?" I said yes. "Alright, I'll make some calls tomorrow."

I thanked him, then took a good look at him. He was immaculately dressed as always, this time with a dark blue suit, brown belt and shoes, a charcoal shirt, and a cyan tie. His posture was relaxed but not slouchy, giving every indication that he was fully involved in the moment but not tense.

"Are you going to keep ogling me or come over here and kiss me?" I came back to reality and saw Kyle looking at me curiously. I was ready for another tumble in the sheets, but there was still plenty of hours left in the day.

I downed the last of the port, then stood up. "That _Logan's Run_ movie just opened. Want to check it out?" Kyle rolled his eyes good-naturedly but agreed to go.

* * *

"What did you think of it?" I asked Kyle. We had made our way to _Moby Dick _after the movie for cocktails.

"It was alright. I'm not really into new-age experimental movies."

"That's right. You're more of a _Breakfast at Tiffany's _kind of guy."

"Gerald Peppard is a catch. Audrey Hepburn I could do without." I gave an indifferent shrug; I didn't mind women in that way, they just weren't my first option. Kyle, on the other hand… "Are you going to Kenny and Leo's going away party?" I told him I wasn't aware of such a party. "I only heard about it the other day; it's a week from Friday. I think you should go." I told Kyle I probably would. "I don't know if, uh- if you wanted to go with me… As a friend, I mean, not as, you know, a couple- It would be too soon for that, right? Right. Okay." Kyle stared at me, his entire face flushed. He took his glass with a strong grip and downed the whole thing in one go like a shot. We sat there for a minute staring at each other, Kyle growing more anxious and me still trying to piece together his sputtering nonsense.

I downed my drink in a similar fashion, then stood up and pulled Kyle up by the hand. "Come on, let's get you home."

Kyle breathed heavily all the way to his apartment door, where he looked up at me with puppy dog eyes. "I'm sorry about what I said It was- Just forget it, it was stupid."

I beat his hand to the door knob and used my other hand to caress his cheek. "You're so cute when you get flustered." I pushed the door open and pushed Kyle in with a kiss.


	6. Chapter 6

Next day I arrived at the office late but in a good mood. I'd spent the evening putting Kyle in his place - bending him over the kitchen counter and drilling away, before moving to the bedroom and pinning his legs against his chest. Kyle had moaned and whimpered through all of it, egging me on to go harder and faster.

Wendy took note of my grin. "Someone had a good night - made another trip to _Raisins_?"

"Not exactly," I said, taking my coat off and handing it to her. "Is Heidi still coming around at two?" Wendy said that Heidi was, then asked if I was ready for the meeting. "No, but I'll try to swing it is as more of a check-up than anything else. Heidi's a sweet girl; won't push me for anything more than I give her." Wendy gave a disapproving look before going back to her desk.

Heidi arrived all in a huff at two o'clock exactly. "Oh, Stan! Have you heard anything about Eric?"

Wendy helped her into a chair while I took out a cigarette and said: "Doing the best I can, Heidi. I have a few leads that need need a little more work, but I'm getting somewhere."

"Oh Stan- Mister Marsh." A silk purse sat on Heidi's lap, which she anxiously raised and brought down with a thump. "I really appreciate this. Please know that you'll be justly rewarded." I told her to not worry about it (even though I did).

She went on in that way for half an hour until Wendy finally pulled her away for lunch, while I again stared out the window. I thought about Kyle: his clean and well-fitting suits; his bushy orange hair; his big green eyes; the way he giggled at my jokes. I hadn't been in a real relationship for a long time, but I'd never met a guy who I was so attracted to in so many ways.

Fuck it.

I picked up my phone and dialed _Garrison & Mackey_; when the secretary answered I asked for Kyle, and this time he was available.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" He sounded tired, but cheerful.

"You'd mentioned that going away party for Butters and Kenny. Still looking for a date?"

"I- I mean- yes, but- Stan, I don't want to impose-"

"Let's go together."

There was a pause before Kyle uttered a quiet: "Really?"

"Really. We'll go to the party, then maybe do something fun afterwards."

I was so caught up in the conversation that I failed to notice the man waiting for me outside my office.

He was about my height - five feet and nine inches - and a little wider. He had dark skin, brown eyes, and curly black hair. His suit was a dull cream color, a contrast to a black shirt, belt, and shoes, and a brown tie. Overall a gharish look.

"Mister Marsh, nice to finally meet you." He spoke in a nasally tenor. "My name is Token Black, and I have some business to discuss with you."

I told Kyle I had to go then quickly hung up. I told the man: "Sure. Have a seat." He sat in a chair across from me. "What can I do for you, Mister Black?"

"I've come to San Francisco in search of a specific item."

"What kind of item?"

Mr. Black leaned in and whispered: "An item of immense value."

I rolled my eyes in my mind. "Right. And what does the item look like?"

"It is a kind of baton, made from brass and encrusted with ancient and valuable jewels. It is worth tens if not hundreds of thousands." That caught my attention. "Do you happen to know where it is?"

"I do." I took out another cigarette. "If I get it for you - not now, another time - will I get tens if not hundreds of thousands?"

Mr. Black made a nasty grin. "You will get to keep your skin." I noticed a ruffle in his coat, and before I could blink there was a .38 pointing right at me. "Let's not make this any harder than it needs to be, Mister Marsh: just give me the baton, and I'll-"

"I didn't know that you had an appointment." God bless Wendy for coming back at just the right time. "You always go and set these up without me knowing." She walked in, and Mr. Black quickly put the gun back in his coat.

"Mister Black and I were just finishing up. Weren't we?" I gave Mr. Black a cheeky smile.

His smile was forced. "Yes, we were." He left a card on desk, said his goodbyes, then left the office.

Wendy seemed none the wiser. "What was that about?"

I frowned. "I'm not sure." I looked at the card, which read: **Dr. Token Black, Antiquary - Hotel Spero, Room 435**. "But I think I ought to find out."

Towards closing time I called the Hotel Spero and asked for Mr. Black, to whom I was patched through. "Ah, Mister Marsh, I was wondering if I would hear from you. I want to apologize for what happened earlier today, I hope I didn't frighten you."

"Not at all Mister Black- or should I say 'Doctor?'" He told me that 'Mister' was fine. "Well listen, let's try to put what happened today past us and start over. Say we meet for lunch tomorrow around noon." Mr. Black was fine with that and asked to meet at a restaurant across the street from the hotel. I said "Sure" and hung up, then told Wendy I was talking tomorrow afternoon off, then finally went home for an Old Fashioned.


	7. Chapter 7

I arrived at the Hotel Sparo at around ten-to-twelve the next day, and inquired at the front desk as to the whereabouts of Mr. Black. The attendant at the front desk said that he had not seen Mr. Black leave his room yet, and at that I left for a cafe down the street, where I took a seat with a view of the hotel's entrance.

Noon came and went with no sign of Mr. Black, as did a quarter after noon and half past noon. I was in no rush for a private encounter with Mr. Black, not if I wanted to live past today, and remained comfortably seated for another hour.

It was at half-past one that something unexpected happen: Cartman arrived. He turned the corner at the opposite end of the block and went into the hotel, and, as Tweek had said, looked very distressed. He was in the hotel for only fifteen minutes and left the building looking positively terrified.

I tailed him for maybe six of seven blocks, always keeping about ten meters behind him; eventually he turned down an alley and into a side door which led to a shady bar. I kept one hand on the .38 in my pocket as I entered, and slowly paced through the joint. There weren't many people around at this time of day, but every one of them was meaner looking than the next.

I found Cartman sitting at a table in the very back, a beer already in his hand. He didn't even acknowledge my presence when I sat across from him. "I'd almost wondered if Heidi would turn to you to find me."

"Where've you been, Cartman? Heidi is worried sick."

He shook his head. "I can't- he'll kill me.

"Mister Black?"

Cartman took a drink of his beer. "Yeah." He made a look of disgust. "That ugly colored-"

"Cartman." I was in no mood for one of his racist tangents. "What is this item that Mister Black is after?"

Cartman sighed. "Order a drink - it's a long story." I got a Gin and Tonic and let Cartman start when he was ready. "When you were in Vietnam, did you ever hear about something called le Bâton Véridique? No? Well that's what the French called it - we all called in the Stick of Truth."

"What's the deal with this thing?"

"It's a baton or something made for a Chinese emperor, I think- or wait, Chinese? I don't know. Anyway, supposedly whoever holds it is able to tell the future.

"Sounds like a fairytale."

Cartman grunted. "No shit. But that's not why the French were after it; rumor has it there are gems encrusted into it which are now worth tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars - each. And now Black wants it."

"And what does he want with you?"

"I've seen it before. Not here, back in Vietnam - we were on patrol and found this temple, and I saw something fitting the description - but Black doesn't believe me and now he won't leave me alone.

I looked Cartman dead in the eye. "For once in your life, be honest: do you know where it is?"

Cartman met my look. "No."

"Alright." I checked my watch: It was half past two now. "I think you and Heidi should take a vacation somewhere, maybe Seattle. I'm sure you could catch a flight tonight."

"And you?"

"I'll take care of this mess, let you know when the coast is clear."

Cartman piped up at that. "Thanks Stan-"

"I'm doing it for Heidi, not you, dickwad." I left Cartman to his bemoaning and walked to the first pay-phone I could find. I dialed the office and asked Wendy if I had missed anything. She said that Mr. Black had called around half-past eleven to cancel our lunch due to unforeseen circumstances, and told him I would call him sometime this week.

She asked if I had a nice lunch regardless. "I ran into Cartman. Someone's after him because they think he knows the whereabouts of some whackadoo diamond or some such." She gasped and asked where Cartman was now. "I sent him back to Heidi and suggested they take a nice vacation for a week or two. Be a babe and make sure they leave tonight, okay?" Wendy said that she would do so immediately, then hung up.

I phoned _Garrison & Mackey _and spoke to Kyle. "I need some help on a job and I want to see you tonight. Come over to my place after work, and feel free to stay over." Kyle was fine with that and we hung up.


	8. Chapter 8

I buzzed Kyle into the building at six that evening, and put a glass of port in his hand as soon as he entered my apartment. "Spontaneous meetings and port - I could get used to this." Kyle sat down on the couch and unbounded his jacket: he had gone for a sportier dark-green suit with a white shirt and his typical brown belt and shoes. He was the apotheosis of style compared to the disaster that was Mr. Black.

I cut right to the chase. "Did you have any luck with your police friends?"

"I did." He took a sip in preparation for a likely monologue. "A few weekends ago, there was a bust in an abandoned building near _Raisins_. Four boxes of confiscated items were taken downtown to the police department, but one of them went missing." I asked if he had any idea of where the missing box might have gone, and he said "None." On a gut feeling, I took out Mr. Black's card and gave it to Kyle, asking if he knew of him. "Certainly. Doctor Black is a renowned adventurer and collector of priceless items. He had taught at Rutgers for a few years, but was gone by the time I was getting my law degree there."

"I ran into him the other day, said he was after something of great value. Possible connection to that missing box?"

"It's possible. Whatever Doctor Black is after must be quite valuable: he doesn't settle for less. I'm just not sure that something of high value would pass through _Raisins_."

"Anything's possible."

Kyle laughed. "I suppose so." He took a sip, then cocked. His head to the side and eyed me. "You look tired. Whatever you're working on must be big." I told him it was. "Do you want to talk about it, maybe get a legal perspective?" I told him I would like that when the time was right. Kyle laughed again and said: "Alright." He put his glass down on the table then opened his arms at me, saying: "Come here you."

We made love on the couch that evening, slow and steady and passionate, which my former lovers would not say of me. Maybe I really was that tired or just in a generous mood, but I let Kyle be on top for all of it and do his own thing, finishing both of us off. Laying in bed afterwards, I sat against the backboard and had him sit in front of me so that I could massage his back.

"Mmm," Kyle said, as I worked on a particularly tight knot. "Good with your hands in many ways." I responded by kissing his neck and back, then we laid down together, him intertwining our legs and stroking my chest, my hand messing with his hair.

After half an hour of laying there I said: "I want to tell you about my family." Kyle said "Okay," and I went off. "I was born in 1943 in South Park, a tiny shit-town south of Denver. My father was an alcoholic scientist who was fired from his job, and has lived an itinerant life ever since. He and my mother fought all the time, day and night, until finally she took my sister and I away to Denver." I paused to gather my thoughts. "My mother and sister moved to San Diego while I stayed with my mother's aunt in Denver, working odd jobs to save for college which… which didn't happen. Then I went to Vietnam in seventy, stayed there for three years, then got the hell out in seventy-three. My unit pulled back to Australia, and my captain asked where I wanted to go to in the states, and I said 'San Francisco; that's where my mother lives.' A month later I'm living with Butters and Kenny out of their charity and setting up as a PI, the only job I was qualified to do." Kyle asked if I was planning on seeing my mother anytime soon. "Maybe after the holiday. Maybe."

Kyle stroked my chest a few times before saying: "You're tough." I asked him what he meant. "I don't know, just that you've been through a lot but you made it here, I guess." He nuzzled his head into my chest. "You're not the only one tired from work." I ruffled his hair and suggested we get some sleep, and we both soon fell asleep.

* * *

I made a point of getting into the office early the next morning before Wendy and calling _New Jersey City University. _After jumping through a few "let me see if he's available" hoops, I finally got the man I wanted. "Gerald, this is Stan Marsh; how are you?"

"Stan, I thought I'd never hear from you again!" Gerald Broflovski had been my captain in Vietnam. "I'm doing well, how are you? Is the sun shining in San Francisco?"

"It sure is. How's the leg?"

"Lame, but good. It healed better than the doctors expected, and all I need to get around is a cane."

"That's good to hear. Listen, I had a question about something called 'le Bâton Véridique.' Some of the guys in the unit talked about it back in Vietnam. Do you know any _facts_ about it?"

I heard a few sheets of paper rustling in the background. "Well sure. It was a ceremonial scepter made for Bayinnaung of the Toungoo Dynasty, but it was lost after his reign in the sixteenth century. The French discovered it in Vietnam sometime during their colonization but it was lost again. There have been various sightings since then, but nothing credible in my opinion."

I leaned back in my office chair and debated how vague to be with Gerald. "There's a guy in San Francisco who thinks it might have gotten here on the black market. Do you think that's possible?"

There was a pause before Gerald said: "It's a one in a million chance, but possible."

"The black market is an amazing enterprise." Gerald laughed at that and spoke we for a few more minutes, mostly about Vietnam - how the survivors of the unit were doing, who had passed away recently, et cetera. When things were wrapping up, I said: "One last thing, Gerald, you talked about having a son - what's he up to these days?"

"Funny you should mention him, Stan; he's actually in San Francisco as well. You wouldn't happen to know a 'Kyle Broflovski' would you?

The evening before, and all the other evenings, flashed through my mind. "I might have heard his name in the legal circuit once or twice."

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor, Stan. Sheila and I haven't spoken with Stan in almost two years, and… And we'd appreciate if you could suggest he write us sometime. If you run into him, tell him that we love him and just want to hear from him."

"I'll be sure to do that, Gerald; you and Sheila take care now." We hung up, then I took a cigarette out and lit up. "Damn," I said to myself. "I'm fucking the captain's son."


End file.
